The Boy Next Door
by Divine Sally Bowles
Summary: Update 10-21-10: Complete because I don't think I'll ever get back to it. Thanks to my reviewers! - Sally. ** We all know the story of the March girls, but have we ever seen the story from the point of view of our boy Laurie?


**A/N- Hello, everyone! I was so pleased with the reviews for "Gaining Experience," my Jo/Laurie oneshot, that I decided to take a chance on this-- the entirety (hopefully) of _Little Women_, told from Laurie's point of view. Since you all asked for more Jo/Laurie from me, here it is-- Laurie claims to have loved Jo since the moment he met her, so there will be plenty of pining! I will try hard not to break canon and have them go too far, but there will be little moments.**

**I do not own any of these characters, though they are very dear to me! I will try as hard as I can to keep a formal tone, since I do not believe I can imitate Alcott's style.**

**Please review! It means so much to me.

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The Boy Next Door

Chapter One  
Behind The Curtain

I despised being the intriguing foreigner.

Well, I wasn't a foreigner, _per se_. One could not get much more of an American name than Theodore Laurence III. The years abroad Grandfather had sentenced me to had left me unfamiliar with the ways of socializing back in America—thus, I had taken refuge behind a curtain.

I contented myself with watching the dancing and merrymaking of the others, listening to the music and wishing I could join in, but not wanting to risk the maelstrom. I was content with my solitude, and only wished the time would go faster until the carriage came.

My peace was broken when a vaguely familiar-looking young girl stumbled in, her chestnut hair in disarray, and obviously believing she was alone. I was about to say something to tell her otherwise, and ask her to stay, when she caught sight of me and stammered, "Dear me, I didn't think anyone else was here!"

She started to back out, but, intrigued, I laughed, just a little, as I told her, "Don't mind me. Stay, if you'd like."

"Shan't I disturb you?"

"Not at all. I only came here because I don't know anyone. I felt rather strange."

"So did I," the girl sighed. "Don't go away, please, unless you'd rather."

Smiling, I surveyed the ground by my shoes so she wouldn't see, until she began, tentatively, "I do believe I've seen you before. You live near us, don't you?"

"Next door," I informed her, with a laugh, as I looked up. "I helped retrieve your cat, if you remember." It was so strange to see her in a dress, when, last I'd seen her, we'd been conversing about cricket!

She laughed as well, and told me, "My sisters and I had such a nice time over your Christmas present."

"Grandpa sent it."

"But it was you who put the idea into his head, wasn't it?"

I didn't want to let her know _that_. It _had_ been me, but… "How is your cat, Miss March?"

"Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence. But I'm only Jo—not Miss March."

"I'm not Mr. Laurence, then. Only Laurie."

"Laurie Laurence," Jo repeated. "What an odd name."

"My first name is Theodore," I admitted, reluctantly, "but I don't like it at all, for the fellows called me Dora. I'd rather they call me Laurie instead."

"I hate my name, too. So sentimental! I wish everyone would say Jo instead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling you Dora?"

"I thrashed 'em."

"Well, I very well can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I'll have to bear it." And she sighed, resigning herself to her fate. I couldn't help another grin.

"Don't you like to dance, Miss Jo?" _Jo._ The name really did fit her—she was far from being a lady, though on her, it was endearing.

"I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and everyone is lively. In a place like this, I'm sure to upset something, tread on people's toes, or do something dreadful, so I try to keep out of mischief while Meg sails about. Don't you dance?"

"Sometimes. You see I've been abroad a good many years, and haven't been into company enough yet to know how you do things here."

"Abroad!" At hearing this, her face lit up, and she looked intrigued immediately. Clearly, this prospect enchanted her. "Oh, do tell me about it! I love dearly to hear people describe their travels."

"I don't know where to start," I laughed, remembering so many wonderful things, but Jo was excited, already asking me questions—had I been to France?

"I have, to a school in Vevay. It's quite strange there, actually. The boys never wear their hats…"

I continued the story, and Jo seemed enraptured, suddenly crying, "Oh, how I wish I'd been there! Did you go to Paris?"

"We spent last winter there," I confirmed. It had been so beautiful.

"Can you talk French?"

"We were not allowed to speak anything else at Vevay."

"Do speak some! I can read it, but I can't pronounce." Again, she looked so eager.

_"Quel nom a cetter jeune demoiselle en les pantoulles jolis?"_

"How nice!" she clapped her hands. "Let me see… you said, 'Who is the young lady in the pretty slippers,' didn't you?"

"_Oui, mademoiselle."_

"It's my sister Margaret, and you knew it was! Do you think she is pretty?"

"Yes, she makes me think of the German girls. She is so fresh and quiet; dances like a lady."

Jo beamed at the compliment to her sister, looking quite contented. I began to think that maybe we could be friends—something I deeply desired, but knew Grandfather was set against. All I had was Mr. Brooke, the servants, and Grandfather—it was a lonely, solitary life, and I longed for contact, especially with the intriguing girls next door.

"I suppose you are going to college soon?" Jo inquired casually. "I see you pegging away at your books—no, no! I mean studying hard," she corrected herself quickly, with a blush, trying to atone for her error, maybe thinking I'd disapprove of the slang.

I smiled, her flaws only making her all the more enchanting, impressive, and shrugged. "Not for a year or two. I won't go before seventeen, anyway."

"Aren't you but fifteen?" Jo asked, examining me closely.

"Sixteen, next month."

"How I wish I was going to college! You don't look as if you like it."

"I hate it! Nothing but grinding or skylarking. And I don't like the way fellows do either, in this country."

"What do you like?"

"To live in Italy, and enjoy myself in my own way," I declared boldly. And I _was_ going to do it—hanged if I didn't!

Jo opened her mouth, as if to say something, but didn't after all. The sounds of a polka drifted through the curtain, and Jo looked up a little, her foot tapping to the music. If she liked music, why, then, I liked her even more. "That's a splendid polka! Why don't you go and try it?" she asked.

"If you will come too," I bowed, hoping she'd say yes—I dearly wished to know more about her.

"I can't, for I told Meg I wouldn't, because…" Here she stops.

"Because, what?" What could it possibly be? Though, with all I know of this girl already, it must be entertaining.

"You won't tell?" she asked, anxiously.

"Never!"

"Well, I've a habit of standing too close to the fire, and so I burn my frocks, and I scorched this one, and though it's mended it shows, and I promised Meg I wouldn't dance. You may laugh, if you want to. It's funny, I know…" She looked so embarrassed, as if she thought that this one mistake would cast her down in my sight. If that is what she thought, she was mistaken.

"Never mind that. I'll tell you how we can manage—there's a long hall out there; we can dance, and no one will see us. Please come."

"Thank you," Jo breathed, relieved, clearly, and slightly stunned by the offer. I held out my hand, and she took it, following me out to the hall.

Jo was a lively partner, and I laughingly taught her the German step, much to her delight. She was plain, but beautiful when she smiled and laughed. When the dance was over, we collapsed onto the stairs to catch our breath, and I was recounting the story of a student's festival I'd been to abroad, when suddenly Margaret March appeared and beckoned to Jo.

Jo took her leave, but did not return as quickly as I'd hoped, and I was soon enlisted by the Gardiners to help them serve the coffee and ice. I looked for Jo the whole while, and came upon her when a familiar voice cried, "Oh, what a blunderbuss I am!"

And there she was, mopping the front of her dress with her clean glove. Evidently she'd spilled coffee. "Can I help you?" I asked, approaching her from behind, still carrying coffee and ice.

"I was trying to get something for Meg, who is very tired, and someone shook me, and here I am in a nice state," Jo replied, looking from her dress to the glove, dismayed.

"Too bad! I was looking for someone to give this to. May I take it to your sister?" I offered.

"Oh, thank you!" Jo exclaimed, relieved. "I'll show you where she is. I don't offer to take it myself because I'd only get into another scrape if I did."

Meg had injured her ankle, and appeared to be in such pain that I took pity on her, and drew up a table to put the ice and coffee on. I left briefly to get some for Jo as well, and heard them in whispered confidence when I came back.

"Isn't he wonderful?" Jo's voice.

"Yes, yes, quite a nice boy." Meg's.

We laughed and ate, and were playing a game when the girls' maid arrived to take them home. I excused myself quietly and went to see if my own carriage had come; Grandfather always sent for me early. It had, and as I went back to say good-bye to the Marches, I heard Jo ask a servant if he could call them a carriage.

She looked quite desperate, and since I was to be riding alone that night, I wanted to make the offer. "Miss March?" I asked, coming to her and lightly touching her shoulder, feeling the need to be formal since we were in the company of others. "May I offer you to come with me in my grandfather's carriage? It's just come, and there is room for the three of you."

"It's so early! Surely you don't mean to leave?" Jo asked, looking unsure as to whether or not she should accept.

"I always go early, I do, truly! Please let me take you home. It's all on my way, you know, and it rains, they say."

"If you're sure you don't mind, then, please? Meg's sprained her ankle; that was the reason for all the fuss before," Jo admitted. "Thank you, truly, Mr. Laurence."

"I assure you it's no trouble."

Jo disappeared to go and get her sister and maid, and returned very soon with the two of them. I helped them into the carriage, going on the box myself, to give them room. All the while, I smiled, glad to have had the opportunity to prolong my contact with this strange, delightful little family—and the second eldest daughter in particular.

I could hear Jo telling Margaret about all we'd done, and hoped that Grandfather would allow me to continue the friendship with the girls. It was unlikely, but worth taking the chance…

Before I even knew it, we had pulled up to the Marches'. I stepped down quickly and held the door open for them. Hannah helped Meg to the house, while Jo lingered for a moment, as the last to leave the carriage.

"Thank you for the ride home, Laurie," she said softly, with a smile. "It was very generous of you."

"It was nothing, I assure you."

"And for tonight… thank you for tonight, too."

"Thank you as well." I smiled and bent to kiss her hand. "Good night, Miss March."

"Good night, Mr. Laurence."

And with that, Josephine March scampered into the house.

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**Again, please review! I'd like to hear your views, and to know if I should continue.**

**- Sally.**


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